


Young Volcanoes

by somethingsomething



Series: The AWOL Nation [3]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crossover, Asexual Character, Constructive Anger, F/F, F/M, Found Families, Gen, Grief, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:39:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingsomething/pseuds/somethingsomething
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No (wo)man is an island and Raleigh isn't the only one building things in the wake of Yancy's death.</p><p>Alternatively,</p><p>The one in which Jaz got the lion's share of brains and decides to do something with the volcano living under her heart.  Namely, building a village in its shadow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rome is in Ruins

**Author's Note:**

> Because you can't just mention that the Becket's have a baby sister and not do anything with that (novelization I'm lookin' at you).
> 
> And because I have massive amounts of Becket feels. My feels are as storied as they are epic.

Five years, three months is a hell of a long time to be angry at someone. And not hold-a-grudge angry. No, Jazmine Becket has been spitting, acid-spewing, deck-you-at-the-sight-of-your-face angry for five years, three months.

It’s one thing to be dropped off at your aunt’s house in Iowa for three years because you begged for it. It’s a whole ‘nother ballgame for your brother to not tell you that your other brother is dead.

Tendo had had to tell Jaz that Yancy was dead. Maybe she could’ve forgiven Raleigh for that. Hell, she knows she would’ve. They were brother and sister and that was supposed to mean something. So they had fucked up and Yancy was dead because of nightmares from the minds of small children and horror writers. Jaz and Raleigh would get through it. The Beckets would live to see another day. Jaz had believed in that the way all freshly-minted adults believe in coming out the other side stronger than before.

Except Raleigh had never answered her phone calls.

And, yeah, okay, she’d gotten a little nasty towards the end. But these were her brothers and one was dead and the other wasn’t talking to _anybody _and if she didn’t have Raleigh she didn’t have anyone.__

__So when Vanessa had finally called and said honey, I’m so, so sorry but he’s run off we don’t know where, Alison is trying every trick in the book, I’m so sorry Liebling, Jaz had been polite as could be and hung up. Then she’d gotten angry._ _

__So far, it’s working out great._ _

__* * * * * *_ _

__When she was 13, Jaz had started a frog-racing shtick that had eventually led to her being suspended. She had felt like a bottle rocket filled with too many chemicals, all bubbling up and competing for oxygen, for space, for _something_. She’d needed an outlet and starting an underground gambling ring had been perfect._ _

__When she’s 18 and her brothers’ are gone (because that’s what Raleigh is – he’s as gone as much as Yancy is, as their father is, as their mother is), everything is jumbled up inside of her she can’t fucking _breathe._ This time, her outlet is school (and wouldn’t that make Yancy so proud, his delinquent baby sister going to college)._ _

__It’s only community college and she’s done in two and a half years. Sprinting through school exhausts her and that’s what she wanted but now she has degrees in auto repair and business management and no more school. She’s also managed to figure out in this time that men just don’t cut it for her and she’d rather just stick to hair braiding and cuddling if that’s cool with you. Otherwise, the door’s to your left._ _

__As tired as she is by the end of the day, Jaz is only getting started._ _

__She calls the Roadhouse for the first time in two years. By some miracle, Newt answers._ _

__“Roadhouse, best steakhouse in all of Kansas! What can I do for you?”_ _

__“Newt! Thank god you answered. It’s Jaz, Raleigh and Yancy’s sister. Listen, do you still get your stuff from that dealer?”_ _

__All the way in Kansas, Newt Geiszler laughs. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only hunter who has ever been glad I’m the one answering. Yeah, Hannibal Chau. Why?” Anybody else would be giving Jaz the most serious side-eyes since the time she outlined a series of weapons and precautions for Gipsy Danger. (One had included repainting it with salt mixed in. Yancy had not been amused.) Newt, bless him, takes her at face value. Or, well, audio value._ _

__“Thinking of setting up an auto shop. Was wondering if he’d be interested.”_ _

__Newt lets out a low hum. “You got a business plan?”_ _

__“Yeah.”_ _

__“E-mail it to me. Just-ghost-with-it-at-g-mail-dot-com. How deep are you willing to get in?”_ _

__Jaz takes in a deep breathe. Everything – grief, anger, loss, abandonment – surges up with the new fuel. “I’d prefer not to get arrested and I don’t hunt. I’m good at support and tactical. I can coordinate pick-ups and routes. I know his network is stretched pretty tight in the Dakotas and Wisconsin. Iowa’s kinda far but it’s better than Chicago.”_ _

__Newt hums again, a higher, brighter sound. “Send me your business plan and we’ll call you.”_ _

__Something in Jaz’s chest loosens minutely. “Thanks, Newt. You’re a rockstar.”_ _

__Newt laughs. “Thanks, Baby Becket! Talk to you soon.”_ _

__After she hangs up, Jaz doesn’t feel like a weight’s been lifted off her shoulders or like she’s run up the steps to Independence Hall. She just…feels._ _

__Not for the first time, Jaz wonders what, exactly, it is that she’s doing. Then she remembers that her entire family is _gone_ and gets back to work._ _

__* * * * * *_ _

__Hannibal Chau is intimidating as _fuck._ He shouldn’t be but he is._ _

__It’s the size of him, Jaz decides, and the fact that it takes balls to rock goggle-glasses, gold plated shoes and a very loud, very uncoordinated velvet suit. It ain’t even October._ _

__Jaz is already on the front steps of Aunt Jen’s old farm house when Hannibal and Newt walk up. Newt bounds up the lawn to wrap Jaz in a hug. It takes Jaz a minute how to remember to hug back._ _

__“Hannibal! This is Jazmine Becket but I don’t think anyone calls her that anymore.”_ _

__Hannibal looks her up and down. “How old are you, kid?”_ _

__At this point, Jaz has bristling down to a fucking science. She hunches her shoulders and closes her eyes just enough to let Hannibal know that she is Jaz fucking Becket and no one, _no one_ , calls her “kid.” Because she’s not. Kids have families and friends. Jaz, apparently, has Newt, an aunt in a senior living community and a farmhouse. There’s a brother floating around out there, but no one’s even heard his name in years so he doesn’t count._ _

__“I ain’t a kid, Chau. 21.” It’s a stretch but really. This whole thing is illegal. No one cares about her age._ _

__Hannibal looks her up and down again. “You gonna let us in?”_ _

__Jaz wants to keep this outside, on her terms, doesn’t want them inside the house. But she asked for this, wants to be an employee. One with large amounts of freedom, but an employee. _You gotta learn to play nice, kid,_ Raleigh used to tell her._ _

__It takes three hours and Jaz has been blue and red and possibly even green in the face too many times to count but._ _

__But Hannibal Chau is saying she’s worth something, that her ideas are worth something, and he’s willing to take a chance on her. They’re going to find a garage and staff and she’ll be in business by the end of the month._ _

__Jaz takes a breath and for five minutes, there is enough and there isn’t a single damn thing trying to erupt out of her chest._ _

__Then she finds Newt going through her things and she has to force herself to keep from spitting._ _

__* * * * * *_ _

__The next day finds Jaz struggling not to explode into a volcano of ash and spite._ _

__“ _No._ ” She’s the said the word so many times that it’s starting to sound strange in her ears._ _

__Hannibal frowns. “And why the hell not? This has plenty of space.”_ _

__“Space? Yeah it has space. But no basement and no office and only one garage door. I’m not spending a shit-ton of time and money on conversions. I’m telling you, the one on Maynard is perfect.” Hot bubbles of frustration and willyoujustfucking _listen_ pop slowly just south of her diaphragm. Hannibal _humphs_._ _

__“One more stop.”_ _

__Jaz has no choice but to follow. She does have a choice to slouch and roll her eyes where Hannibal can’t see._ _

__The tattoo parlor is not what Jaz was expecting. “I just told you I’m not-”_ _

__“Spending a shit-ton of time and money on conversions, yeah yeah. How ‘bout you shut up and listen for five minutes?” Jaz resists to urge to channel her inner punk._ _

__Hannibal gets out of the car and starts walking and Jaz, because this is the only person who can get her started on this path she’s picked, follows. It’s not an easy gait._ _

__Inside, Newt is chatting to the receptionist, where they’re comparing sleeves. When he sees her, Newt bounds over to Jaz as if he hadn’t just seen her yesterday. This time, Jaz remembers how hugs work. Hannibal nods and the receptionist disappears into the back._ _

__“So you’re serious ‘bout joinin’ the crew?” Hannibal asks._ _

__Jaz straightens out of Newt’s hug (and tries not to dwell on when the last time she let somebody hold her for more than two seconds was). “Yes.”_ _

__“Then you’re going to need some ink.”_ _

__Every gear in Jaz’s brain grounds to a shrieking, grating halt. It must show on her face because Newt’s waving his arm in her face. There, nestled in between hell hounds and grim reapers just below Newt’s elbow, the face of a monster from old B-horror movies growls up at her._ _

__“-doesn’t even hurt, promise! Okay, a little, because the skin’s really thin but it’s small, doesn’t take long. Unless you pass out. That happened to one guy but I think he was afraid of needles or something.”_ _

__Jaz looks at Hannibal, who’s still wearing those ridiculous goggle-glasses. “It’s in case something goes wrong and we need to ID your body as ours. And so we know who to look for.”_ _

___And that’s just it, isn’t?_ Jaz’s mind whispers. _You’ve forgotten what it’s like to belong.__ _

__So Jaz gets the damn tattoo in its damn blood-red ink on her left forearm, just below the crease of her elbow. It does hurt, but she doesn’t pass out. Beckets are made of sterner stuff._ _

__Three weeks later, after the garage on Maynard is finally starting to earn its keep, she gets its twin, all in black. A star encircled by wings and a growling monster proclaim to the world just who Jazmine Becket is._ _

__The just-enough feeling lasts for a few weeks._ _


	2. We are the Lions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaz falls in love and kicks some ass. You know. The usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahaha look who finally showed up fifteen minutes late with no Starbucks.
> 
> Without further ado, here is the longest piece of fiction i have ever written in my entire life.

Bai Fang rolls into Jaz’s life in a black Cadillac Escalade. Jaz is not impressed. A woman slides down from the driver’s seat, dressed simply in dark denim, leather boots and long sleeves. If she had hair, Jaz imagines it would be tied back. The woman, she decides, is far more aesthetically pleasing than the SUV.

Jaz might be a little impressed. The car still sucks.

* * * * * *

Jaz lets Fang take her out to dinner whenever Fang’s in town. The first time happens in the middle of a salt circle; they’d been trying to catch some ghouls for Newt to study and, well. Jaz was loudly questioning every life decision that led to her hunting because of aesthetically pleasing individuals. Fang asked. Jaz’s tongue forgot every English word except for _yes_. They got milkshakes after Mikey came to their rescue.

The fifth time it happens, Jaz comes home, greasy and more than a little hoarse from yelling at some newbie-know-it-alls who thought they knew how to disguise massive amounts of bullets (hint: not in plain fucking sight, dumbass), to find Fang in her kitchen. Fang’s sipping tea and flipping through the newspaper. She’s not wearing shoes.

It makes Jaz feel warm between her ribs, but she’s not angry. She doesn’t really have a name for it.

“Hey,” she finally says. Fang looks up at her and that smile makes Jaz feel like she’s taken a step backward onto thin air. She shakes it off. “How’d you get in here?”

Fang holds up a set of lock picks. Oh. Right. Second-in-command of the mostly ghostly black market underworld. Jaz frowns, shakes her head in exhaustion again.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she says. Fang smiles and her mouth isn’t sharpened knives (which is terrifying and gets people to just and listen in .5 seconds) but a warm breeze.

Later, Jaz steps out of her bathroom wrapped in the biggest, fluffiest towel she owns and stops dead in front of her bed. “FANG!”

Fang takes her time coming up the stairs. Jaz’s face is still fluctuating between confusion and annoyance when Fang leans herself against the doorframe.

“Yes, dear?” Jaz takes back the line about a warm spring breeze. Fang looks far too pleased with herself to be caring and loving.

“What-. I don’t-. This-. _What?_ ” Jaz sweeps her hand over the bed.

“I was in Tokyo over the weekend and saw it. I think the color suits you beautifully.” Fang walks over and picks up the… _dress_. She holds it against Jaz to demonstrate.

And it does look good (all soft pale blue fabric that flows like a river) but Jaz hasn’t worn a dress since before her mother died. And the heels? Jaz never learned to walk in heels. She’d been too young for her mother to teach her and the cons she’d pulled with Raleigh and Yancy had never called for them. There’s also a zippered bag. The sinking feeling in Jaz’s gut says _makeup_. It could be a purse.

Jaz swallows her pride. “I, uh, I don’t know how to, um, girl.”

Fang, to her credit, doesn’t laugh. Her eyes do crinkle at the corners, though. “I will help. Go, dress. We have reservations.”

Jaz has always been a good soldier. She dresses and manages not to flinch too badly when Fang does her eyeliner.

* * * * * *

After dinner, Jaz is sitting shotgun in Fang’s (hideous) Escalade, heart in her throat. Fang’s been touchy tonight. Little stuff, like brushing against Jaz’s side as they walk, tracing patterns on the back of Jaz’s hand during dinner. A kiss against her temple while waiting for the maître d’ to seat them.

The thing is, Jaz doesn’t want sex. Telling her partner hasn’t always…gone over well. She likes Fang but Jaz has learned the hard way that the only person that’s going to stick around for the long-term is herself.

So Jaz takes a deep breath and blurts, “I don’t do sex.”

Fang’s hands jerk a little on the steering wheel. Hopefully because of Jaz’s lack of build-up.

“Yes?” Fang says, like this is something that everyone knows. “Newton has told me. He explained asexuality very thoroughly to me. Mr. Chau made it very clear that I was not to offend you in anyway.” Her smile turns wry. “It was…interesting to have my boss threaten me with grievous harm. I am not usually on the receiving end.”

Jaz’s mind turns off like a light bulb who’s switch has been flipped. This is not how these things usually go. Right? Jaz waits for the punch line.

There isn’t one. They arrive at Jaz’s house and Fang walks her to the door. Jaz is about to turn the key when she spins around. “You’re okay with how this is gonna work? Because a girlfriend tried to convince me once and got pissy when I told her no, not in a million years because I just don’t. This is it, Fang, this is me. We can,” Jaz takes a deep breath, “we can talk about, like, an open relationship or some shit, but I’d kinda rather not? I mean, this is new for me, the accepting sticking around thing? and I really like you but there will be no sex, not from me.”

Jaz is prepared to go on for another five minutes because nerves and uncertainty and _God_ but she wants this with Fang, but Fang kisses her. It’s just once, softly, gently, and Fang pulls away after only a second (or was it less? Jaz’s brain stopped). Fang is smiling, like she has a secret, the kind that means pancakes and chocolate chip cookies for no reason other than she can. And she wants to share.

“I like you very much, Jazmine, and I would like to continue to see you when I am in town. You are…lovely and brilliant, though I find those words lacking. Sex is something I can live without.”

Something under Jaz’s heart expands and pushes against her lungs but it doesn’t burn. It’s warm and spreads through her like hot coffee on crisp mornings. Jaz throws her arms around Fang and kisses her with enough enthusiasm to make them both stumble.

Long minutes pass and they should’ve broken apart ages ago to breathe, but Jaz has more important things on her mind. Like figuring out how to unlock the door without unlocking their lips. And how smooth Fang’s head feels under her fingertips. And the gentle tug of Fang’s fingers through her hair as she plucks out the bobby pins.

Jaz tells Fang that she can sleep in Jaz’s bed, if she’d like, because Jaz would very much like. They slot together in the middle, Fang mostly on her back, Jaz tucked against her side. In the morning, Fang has already left for a flight to Germany. She’s left chocolate chip pancakes on the counter. The saran wrap still has beads of condensation collecting on the top and damp dishes rest in the drying rack.

* * * * * *

Fang goes to Hamburg, Paris, London, Bangkok and even Dubai. She comes back to Jaz for a week or two in between each trip. Jaz asks, one evening six months in, if Fang has seen anybody else while she’s been away.

Fang smiles, so so warmly and privately that Jaz thinks her heart is breaking (but it’s not, it’s just full), and says, “No. None of them were as pretty as you.”

Jaz ducks her head to hide her blush. She lets Fang see her grin (and it’s as dazzling as the sparks from an exuberant volcano at night but Jaz doesn’t know that) first.

* * * * * *

It’s been five years, four months since Yancy’s death. Four months ago, just like every year, Jaz lit a single white candle and put in the right window closest to the front door. She let it burn down into wax, just like every year.

It’s been five years, three months since Raleigh disappeared. Three months ago, just like every year, Jaz was irritable and twice as likely to take off the head of anything, mortal or otherwise, unfortunate enough to piss her off. Fang, when she’s in town that time of year, leaves Jaz alone except for a mug of hot and decaffeinated tea before bed.

On this particular day, Jaz is not thinking about how many months it has been since she saw either of her brothers. Most days, she doesn’t remember the exact count. 

* * * * * *

Jaz lies on her back under a fairly new F-150 that sounds like its forty years old. The owner gave Jaz an odd look when she gave such an exact number but, well. It’s a sound Jaz grew up with.

An old pair of work boots stops in front of the car. There’s just enough space between Jaz’s knees and the undercarriage for her to see the mud splatters. “There’s a receptionist. Go talk to her,” she says around the flashlight. Jaz prides herself on her clarity when talking with a full mouth. Sometimes, the only chance to talk over her brothers was when everyone was stuffing themselves.

“I, uh, don’t actually have a car? And she said that you were working on this one and I could come on back, so….”

Everything inside Jaz goes utterly still. She grew up with that voice. She grew up with that voice and some small part of her has been burning candles waiting to hear it again. The rest of her feels engulfed in a plume of a lot of anger, a little hate and resentment and more than a little hurt.

Jaz slides out from underneath the pick-up. She refuses to look at Raleigh. She goes to the office and tells Linda to announce that everyone can go home now, shop’s closing early today.

On his way out, Mikey says “Uh, boss? You don’t look so good. And it ain’t even 10, so why we closin’?”

Jaz opens her mouth to answer but can’t. She takes a minute to unlock her jaw enough to grind out “Family business.” Her teeth grind on every syllable. Mikey, either in understanding or sheer terror, leaves quickly.

Once the garage is clear and Linda has given her a hug and a good luck, Jaz goes back to the pick-up. Raleigh hasn’t moved except to drop his duffel by his feet.

A wrench is lying on the ground by Jaz’s feet. She picks it up to put it away. It’s small, but still has a decent weight to it. And she aims it for chest, not his head. Really, she’s being generous here.

“Ow! Jaz!” She throws another one from the trolley by the truck. “Dammit! Can we talk, please?”

Yeah, no. She waits until he straightens up to swing her fist towards his head. She even gives him enough time to block. He does. Fantastic. He’s not a total dumbass, though the bar is pretty high.

Jaz doesn’t bother with much technique; she’s too pissed. She throws another punch, this one connecting with Raleigh’s cheekbone. He backs up but Jaz follows him with a shot towards his ribs. Raleigh sidesteps. Jaz puts too much force into hitting something that isn’t there and ends up with her back to Raleigh. He steps forward and wraps his arms around her.

“Jaz, _stop_. We can talk about this.”

A new wave of anger burns through Jaz. She doesn’t _want_ to be held by her brother while they cry about their feelings and reminisce about Yancy. So she whips her head back and feels it connect with Raleigh’s head. She stomps on his instep with the heel of her boot for good measure. Raleigh, now with a bloody nose and sore foot, lets her go. Jaz resumes her assault with a roundhouse kick that just grazes Raleigh’s lip.

Eventually, Jaz physically exhausts herself. She has tears and snot running down her face and Raleigh is standing a good ten feet away. She doesn’t have any wrenches handy so she starts throwing the next best thing.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?” Her words are brimstone and fire. If Raleigh came here expecting holy water and absolution, he has another thing coming.

Raleigh straightens up out of a crouch that was half-placating, half-defensive. A spectacular bruise is already blooming around his left eye. His split lip is wet-looking but not bleeding. Well, it might be. A little blood is still trickling out of his nose. 

“I wanted to see you. It’s been awhile.”

There’s a sound that’s half wild animal and half dying engine. It’s coming from Jaz, if Raleigh’s startled face is any indication. Jaz doesn’t really give a fuck.

“It’s been awhile? _It’s been awhile?_ You know what? No. Abso-fucking-lutely not. Get out.”

“Jaz I–“

“No! You don’t get to come back, not after all these years, and just say ‘It’s been awhile.’ You didn’t even tell me Yancy was dead, which fine, whatever. You were fucked up, too. But what makes you think I wasn’t fucked up, too, huh? You were all I had left. You! That’s it! There was no one else, Raleigh. And you fucking _left me_. Without anything. And you know what? I built this.” Jaz throws both hands up, sweeping her hands around everything. “I got myself through college. I took care of Aunt Jen. I called Hannibal Chau and I got him to let me in. I built up this corner of the black market from _nothing_. I didn’t need you or Yancy then and I sure as hell don’t need you now.”

Raleigh’s face contorts into a grimace that might’ve been a smile. “You’re right, Jaz. You never needed us. Yance and I were the dumb ones who couldn’t figure out how to live in the real world.” Raleigh looks away for a minute. Outside, the first birds back from the winter are flying lazy loops. Raleigh looks back at Jaz. “I didn’t know what to do when Yancy died. I didn’t know how to look at you and tell you that he was dead because we were too stupid. I’m sorry.”

Raleigh’s words don’t placate the fury in Jaz’s heart but they do satisfy some part of her always wondered if Raleigh was hurting as bad as she was. Raleigh picks up his back and heads towards the garage doors.

“How did he die?” Jaz throws out. It’s not her most tactfully asked question ever but fucking off to Podunk, Wherever isn’t very tactful either. Must be a family trait.

Raleigh turns back; his mouth screws up like a kid whose watermelon Warhead has reached the vaguely puke-tasting stage. “You owe me, Raleigh. He was my brother, too,” Jaz says, and it’s a low blow but she is Faust and she aches to know.

Raleigh sighs. It shudders through him, his body reluctant to let it go. “I….” He stops, starts again. “Look, there’s a reason I never told anybody what happened. Not even Vanessa and she can get anybody to talk to her. You’re not gonna like it.”

Jaz laughs once, a hard sound that doesn’t sound anything like her. “Like it? I don’t want to _like it_ , Raleigh, I want to know what happened because Yancy was my family and whatever happened made me lose you, too, so spill.”

So Raleigh tells her about the poltergeist, about the motel, about waking up in Kansas and remembering nothing of the drive, save for the feel of Yancy’s blood on his skin. Jaz, who has seen mutilated bodies for the purpose of bagging them up for Newt to study, dry heaves more than once.

Then Raleigh tells her about Canada and working constructing, about Lexie and the tattoo.

Jaz, in turn, tells Raleigh about being angry and alone and college and Fang and being asexual (and if he has a fucking problem he can fuck right back off to Canada, but Raleigh just smiles, says three kids, you’d think one would’ve been straight, huh?) and her tattoos. 

By the end, they’re both crying and propped up by the wheels of the pick-up. Fang finds them like this, the afternoon edging towards evening. (Apparently, Mikey and Linda had we’re-concerned-for-the-boss coffee, Linda called Newt, who called Hannibal, who called Fang, who got in the car and drove from wherever she’d been.) Jaz looks up at Fang, who’s wearing a smile softer than down pillows, and Raleigh, with red eyes and muted joy on his face. For once, Jaz doesn’t feel like her chest is too small for anger or happiness.

For once, Jaz just is.

(Fang takes Raleigh and Jaz home and they set Raleigh up in the guest room. It’s not perfect and Jaz still feels hurt and anger like smoke damage after a fire. But it’s a start.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated.


End file.
